


Flightless

by unluckyxse7en



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Dreamselves, FLARP, Flying, Gen, I seem to have a comfort zone, POV Second Person, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prospit, Trolls, or anti-comfort zone more like, still more ptsd oh goody
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-12-09 23:41:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11679513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unluckyxse7en/pseuds/unluckyxse7en
Summary: A young troll wakes in his dream tower on Prospit. He normally dreams of flying... but this time, it's something a little different.





	Flightless

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first try at second person perspective, and first try with someone who wasn't Dave as the focal point. A little shaky but I'm still pretty proud of this one.  
> P.S. there's a little reference to classpects made towards the end - let me know if you find it!! ;P

You awaken slowly, dimly aware that everything shines with a golden hue. Even your own recuperacoon can’t obscure the brilliance of your surroundings, it seems. Far away, muted by the sopor slime that fills the ‘coon, the sounds of a lively city reach your ears. As you stir, and begin to come out of your slumber, a sense of your location returns to you. Prospit. You’re on Prospit - like you always are, right? 

Excitement wells up in your chest, and you attempt to get up and out of the rest receptacle eagerly. Perhaps a bit too much so, as your needlessly oversize horns get caught on the rim of the ‘coon in your flurry of movement. It takes at least a full minute of maneuvering before your head is free from the narrow space. Finally, you pull yourself out into the bright light, your eyes squeezing shut involuntarily at the gleam. Nevertheless, a grin plays around the edges of your toothy mouth. It looks to be another exciting day in Skaia, and one you don’t want to miss. 

You step fully out of the slime-filled cocoon, making sure you’re absolutely dry before pulling on your elegant gold clothes. This proves to be much less of a trial, as your shirt is thankfully a button-up - you’d hate to have to try to pull your head through such a nice shirt. With the span of your horns, and their curved pointy tips, that would just be asking to get snagged and rip any unsuspecting top to shreds. 

Taking a quick glance in the mirror, to ensure everything fits right, you give a lopsided grin at your reflection. You twist and turn to and fro, admiring how the clothing fits your frame as though it were made for you.

“Heyy, uh, lookin’ pretty spiffy, there,” You compliment your reflection on his rather snazzy golden threads, shooting fingerguns at him for effect. Your other self is only too happy to return the favor, a somewhat nervous grin turning into a genuine beam as the guns are aimed and fired. You have to admit this feels pretty silly, but you’ve been trying to follow some of Kanaya’s advice lately on self-esteem, and trying to compliment yourself is up there on the list of things to do. Feeling that your confidence, is already a little more than it was, you take a big breath in, filling your lungs with refreshing Prospit air. Boy, you can’t wait to go explore the city today.

Turning your attention to the tall window that leads outside, you see the cityscape glisten and glimmer outside, and your heart swells with excitement. The golden buildings, bright blue sky, the ivory chess people with their colorful garments - sometimes it’s a bit much for your sight globes, but what do you care? This scenery is very special, moreso than a quick glance would tell, and as far as you’re concerned it’s one of the best places around. Especially when you can fly over and through it.

You eagerly stride over to the window, leaning over the frame briefly to take in a good look at the inhabitants below. Sometimes you wonder if one day, you’ll look out the window just like this, and see someone waiting down there for you, or maybe a friend on their way to pay a visit, passing underneath the windowsill. That day has yet to come, however, as the only passerby appear to be the chess people. You feel an involuntary shiver go through your body as you note how far down the paved yellow streets are from your vantage point, but you pay it no mind. Probably just excitement in anticipation of flying, you think. Yeah, that must be it.

Now the only question that remains before you take off, is where should you go? Do you want to visit a friend, today, or do you just want to fly? You briefly mentally run through your list of friends, wondering who you should visit. You aren’t feeling particularly social though, so perhaps you’ll just wing it, so to speak? Boy if only you had wings as well as flight - That’d be the dream, right there. Deciding that you’ve put off flying long enough, you push the window panes further open than they already were, to make sure your horns won’t clonk into them, which, is an unfortunate but common mishap - how many windows have you broken doing that, again? Once you’re certain you’ll fit, you hoist yourself up onto the sill, feet planted firmly. Taking one last look around the city before you take off, you tense your legs and prepare to launch yourself out of the window, ready to take flight.

Ready to take flight.

Ready to take….

Ready…. to….

Or rather, you should be ready to take flight. But your legs refuse to launch!! In fact, your whole body seems to refuse to move!!! You’re just…. standing there, eyes transfixed on the streets below. For some reason, you actually don’t feel so sure about this idea anymore? The longer you stare down at the ground - which is so very far away, and almost looks like it’s getting further by the second, are your eyes playing tricks on you? - the more you’re filled with a sense of unease. That shiver returns, bringing many of its friends with you, and you find you’re no longer excited anymore. You feel…… terrified? But of what? Why?

“I… I don’t, understand,” you mumble to yourself, voice wavering and halting.  
“Why, can’t I, bring myself to fly…?”  
You try to clench your fists, trying to stop some part your body from trembling like a leaf. The longer you stare down, taking in the height you stand, the more it feels like you’re… forgetting something. Something important. But what?  
You swallow drily. Maybe this isn’t a good idea after all. You don’t know why. But you don’t think you should stand so close to the edge for now. You decide to try to move, by stepping down from the sill carefully, instead of trying to fly. That way you’re not as likely to….  
Oh. 

No sooner do you bring your second foot down from the window, does it come rushing back to you. The flarp session. The enemies. The cliff. 

The fall.

Whimpering involuntarily, you stagger backwards, away from the window as if suddenly repulsed by the view. A low keening emits from your throat, as everything from that night comes back to you, overwhelming you. You sink to the floor, tears welling in your eyes. You grip at your shirt, as phantom sensations of betrayal and pain and panic overtake your senses. A sob chokes out of your throat, a sob that shakes your frame, and you curl into yourself, sitting on your knees with one arm supporting your weight as you lean forward. 

You just wanted to fly…

Your jaw clenches in frustration as another wave of sorrow and pain hits you hard.

You just wanted to fly!!!

How could she do that to you?

How could she take your legs away from you like that???

And now, it seems she’s even taken away the one thing you enjoyed most from you.

Now, you can’t even bring yourself to think of flying without…. remembering. 

Remembering how terrified you were.

Remembering how the cool Alternian night air rushed past you.

Remembering how numb and immobile you felt, right until the moment you hit the ground with that sickening ‘crunch’.

Remembering how much it had almost felt like flying.

But that wasn’t flying. Flying isn’t plummeting uncontrollably, as limp as a puppet dropped from its strings. Flying isn’t dictated by someone who seems determined to make your life miserable. Flying isn’t something tamed and restrained by others, used only for their purposes. Flying is the feeling of freedom, of having the whole world open up to you, feeling the air welcome and guide you. 

You risk a glance back up at the window, at the sky outside, trying to envision yourself out there, in the sky, among the clouds. Your entire body violently shudders anew, sapping the strength from your muscles, and you whine once more as tears flow down your face.

Outside, Prospit shines with the brilliance of the sun, glittering vibrantly and attractively. But up inside one boy’s tower, the radiance fails to reach, as if all light were stolen from its core.


End file.
